Goldfish in the sink
by evildemonseth
Summary: PLEASE PLEASE R&R my first fic, its a Gorillaz fic. Murdoc realises he might have a heart. FINISHED! 2DMurdoc
1. Chapter 1

Goldfish

DISCLAIMER: I dont own the Gorillaz.

This is my first fan fiction ever, please read and review and tell me what you think. Am working on the second and final chapter right now.

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Murdoc Nicols watched carefully as the single goldfish made its slow cycle around the globe that was its home. He would be the first to admit what he was doing was not the most kind of things, particularly as Noodle had developed a deep love for the pathetic animal since it had made a home in the kitchen of Kong Studios. But the fact was that fish, especially mindless ones, were a great irritation to the Satanist and besides, when was the last time he had hurt anything?

Poison was the first thing he could think of. Other options had included frying it, drowning it in air it could not breathe, or even skewering it and watch it struggle under his grip. But poison was the one method which meant he was pretty unlikely to get caught. 2-D left his medicines and pills everywhere including the kitchen, there was no reason that one of the bottles could have tipped over and dropped into the goldfish bowl. Murdoc hoped.

God knows what was in the medicine, but the skull and crossbones on the front was reasonably self explanatory. For a split second he found himself worrying about his band mate taking such things, but he shoved the thought away and boldly unscrewed the lid.

"Say goodbye." He chuckled as he gently poured the mixture into the water. When the darker cloud of poison began to enshroud the indifferent goldfish, he began to cackle to himself and threw caution to the wind, pouring the entire bottle into the vessel. The fish seemed to understand what was happening, and suddenly zipped around in an instinctive panic as its gills were assaulted by a stinging gel that was 2-D's cure for insistent headaches. Retreating to the ornamental house at the base of the bowl seemed to help, but even then the water was slowly curdling.

Murdoc watched with his wide mouth cut into a grin of glee. It had been too long since he had hurt anything. Of course there were the bugs which infested his Winnebago, you could never squash enough of those bastards, but somehow insect abuse just didn't do it for him anymore. He had once been a constant purveyor of beatings to just about anyone. It was 2-D who had been his favourite punch bag until Russell had finally confronted him about the situation and ordered him to stop.

"I made this band!" Murdoc had retaliated quickly. He had been slumped on the sofa in front of the TV, remote in one hand and bottle in the other, when Russell had cornered him and hesitantly made his point.

"D'unt mean you cn' hit ma' bro around though, Murdoc." The drummer pointed out, his arms folded in what he hoped was a gesture of strength. Again, Murdoc half glanced at him with miss-matched eyes.

"As I said Russ, I made this band and I can do what I want. Got that?"

"No I aint--"

"I said have you got that!" Murdoc had exploded. The bottle smashed on the wall behind Russell's bulky frame, and the man flinched and shook his head, holding his hands up in submission.

"Alrigh' alrigh', just trying to defend my bro. If he aint dun nuthin wrong, dunt you touch him. Haven't you got a heart?" And with that he had left, leaving behind the odour of hamburgers and cheap aftershave. Murdoc sniggered.

"Heart."

I suppose I don't have a heart, he thought now as the goldfish became his victim. And who's to care? I don't. The minute I start caring about someone Id...well I'd...

But he had been caring for someone. Else he would not be reduced to killing vulnerable animals for pleasure, right? Right? Murdoc tapped his temple irritably to push away the invading thoughts. Consciences were probably the biggest pain in the world, second only to pretty boy singers.

"Murdoc?" A little Japanese voice asked. The bassist span on his heels to see a pre-teen girl stood innocently in the doorway, guitar in hand and a most adorable smile on her oriental face.

"Er," Murdoc shuffled carefully to the side, entirely blocking the scene of his crime from her view. "Afternoon Noodle. Are you alright?"  
"I have lost my Muse." She sighed, flicking the doorway as if doing so would help her find her lost inspiration. "I felt in my heart I had a song to write today, but all I had so far is soulless words. Would you help me?"

"Er...well actually I was just going to..."

"That's it!" Noodle suddenly brightened, and her face glowed as if a light had been switched on inside her. "I've got it! Thank you Murdoc!" And she zipped away before her companion could begin to wonder what power he had used to return the spark of creativity that was lodged inside her little frame. She was a godsend, that one. Must have been sent by the angels, or possibly someone who thought it would be amusing to pack off a child in a Fed-ex box. Without that flame of life inside her, who knows were the band would be now? Non-existent probably.

Murdoc blinked once, then he grabbed the goldfish bowl and hurled it against the floor with as much strength as he could muster. The glass exploded and shards were sent flinging into the air to bounce against the walls or embed themselves in his clothing. Without noticing the blood which quickly rushed into his left eye, the Satanist snatched up the gasping fish and bounded towards the sink, pushed the mountain of dirty plates out of the way, replaced the plug and frantically batted the rusty button that was the cold tap. When the clear water splattered into the basin, he carefully placed the fish into the growing puddle and watched hopefully as the level rose.

It was a beautiful creature really, perhaps that was why he had wanted to kill it. Jealous of its beauty, jealous of its ability to be able to please just by swimming around in a friggin bowl all day. The web-thin tail flicked in the water, and soon the creature was able to propel itself along under the pulsating skin of the water, happy and oblivious as before. When Murdoc saw it begin to retrace the circles it had made in its old home, around and around and around, he almost chuckled as he dropped in flakes of food from an ancient-looking pot on the side. He turned off the tap and watched the flakes being gulped up by the peculiar snout of the fish. Now he could see why Noodle loved this damned thing so much.

Glass all over the kitchen floor. Murdoc was damned if he could be bothered to clear that up. He knew he would have to explain himself to Noodle as soon as her quick little mind worked out what had happened, but right now all he cared about was wandering around the dark corridors of their home and mutter to himself. It would have been good to have hurt something else. But to be realistic, what kind of idiot gets pleasure from acting the hand of god on a goldfish? All this because that Russell had given him a pep talk on how to behave to a man who had about four brain cells, two of which were asleep most of time anyway. But then again, surely if he was like his old self, he would have hurt 2-D even more just to assert himself as a guy who wasn't going to take crap from anyone.

He had saved the goldfish because he did not want Noodle to get upset.

There. Admitted it. Oo, I can feel a heart beating away under that repulsive shell I've got for a chest. Next I might be handing out flowers and sending all my money to the RSPCA.

Well he knew that wasn't true. But still, he felt a peculiar feeling in his chest which felt suspiciously like guilt, guilt that he had wanted to hurt something which gave that girl so much delight.

Time to kill some cockroaches.

On his way to the car park, Murdoc passed 2-D's room. The singer was stood at the doorframe staring into his bedroom as if the devil himself was appearing inside it. Murdoc stopped and watched his back for a few seconds, then he made himself known the usual way.

"Hey, brain-ache!" He barked. 2-D jumped three feet into the air, spun around and fell over backwards, cracking his head painfully on the side of the chair which was lodging the door open.

"Uh, hi Murdoc." The singer said uncertainly as he sat up and drew a tentative hand to the back of his head.

"What in crap's name are you doing? Scared of the monster under your bed are you?" Murdoc leaned forward to survey the room. Apart from the fact that the bed had been almost entirely ripped apart and a sword was embedded in what was left of the mattress, nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary.

"I thought I saw a zombie." 2-D mumbled. "The first thing I got in ma hand was Noodle's sword...I guess she must have left it..."

"Yeah." Murdoc showed his disinterest sharply. "Did you kill it or not, brain-ache?"

"I dunno where it went..." He mumbled. "I really don't like those things..." He looked over his shoulder at the pile of fluff and springs which was once his sleeping arrangements. "I think I might have...overreacted a bit."

"Hm." Murdoc chuckled. He offered his band mate his hand, and 2-D studied it warily, flinching away. "What?" The bassist asked, but when he saw the fear in his companion's eyes he sighed angrily and allowed his hand to flop to his side. 2-D struggled to his feet and took a few cautious steps into his room. There was a large bruise which could be just seen peeking from under the neck of his shirt, and Murdoc felt that peculiar pang in his heart again as he remembered the feeling of the taller man's flesh and bone thudded against his angry fist. Again, he pushed the thoughts which came with it away, and followed his companion into the room.

"Be careful." 2-D said, looking at Murdoc with his brow furrowed. "Those things are attracted to...dark colours."

"You think I don't know that?" The bassist snapped, becoming more aware of his gloomy clothes. When he saw his forehead was being stared at, he glared back. "And what exactly do you find so interesting?"

"You've got glass stuck in you."

"Aw crap, really?" Murdoc lifted his hand to his brow and succeeded in impaling his fingertip on a sharp point which seemed to be jutting from his skin. "Fuck!"

"Hold still, I can get it out for you."

Murdoc, who was now sucking his finger, raised a critical eyebrow. The day he saw a druggie like 2-D have fingers steady enough to take glass from skin would be the day he shagged a guy. Neither was going to happen. Still, 2-D drew close and with careful, almost reverent hands he prodded the skin around the glass. Murdoc felt more blood drop into his already red eye and he slapped the arm closest to him. The singer stifled a yelp and drew back quickly.

"Don't touch me brain-freeze, I can deal with this myself!" To prove this statement, he grabbed the piece blindly and yanked it from his skin in one quick movement that sent a thin splatter of blood flying to land across 2-D's shirt. His yell was loud enough, but he stopped himself quickly and bit his lip. Blood poured down his eye and across his cheek, making him look like he was crying tears of blood.

"Are you alright?" 2-D asked with concern.

"I'm fine!" Murdoc snapped, and he pushed his band mate violently away, leaving a bloody handprint on his already stained top. He scrubbed away at the wound with his sleeve, willing the flow to stop which it soon did. 2-D looked like he was going to say something, when both men became aware of the fact the mound of destroyed bed was shivering violently. They exchanged a terrified look between them, before a ragged rotten hand burst from the wreckage and clawed at the air as if seeking for flesh to clamp onto. When the hand settled on the embedded sword and began to caress it like a lover, Murdoc snapped from his stupor and lunged forward to grab 2-D's arm and yank him from the room in one swift movement which would have rivalled a dancer. Outside, he flung the singer at the opposing wall and pushed the door shut before he began piling anything he could get his hands on against the barrier. 2-D recovered quickly and attempted to push the heavy water cooler towards the scene of action, only succeeding in spraining his wrist when he did so. Murdoc saw him and growled to himself, before quickly rushing to his aid. In a matter of seconds, the water cooler was lodged against the doorframe and the collection of heavy objects, including Noodle's go-kart, suggested there was a limited possibility of the zombie being able to get out of the room.

Murdoc leant a hand against the wall and breathed heavily as 2-D jumped around holding his wrist, his face twisted in suppressed screaming.

"You alright?" Murdoc asked eventually. He received a whimper in reply.

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Dinner that evening consisted of the usual grimy takeaway. The band were gathered on the sofa before the Television, tucking into the pizzas and watching the flashing images with bemusement. Noodle was sat on top of the large pile of boxes which had made up Russell's dinner, quietly munching away on a crust. Her small eyes were continuingly darting towards Murdoc who was leaning against the arm of the sofa and taking up as much room as possible as usual. He pretended not to notice her and took another sip from the bottle in his hand.

2-D was sitting on the floor with his back leaning against the sofa's back, chewing on a tough slice of cheese and pepperoni and staring into nothing. He never watched the television unless he was feeling good. And he definitely was not feeling that. Someone had decided to hide his strongest headache medicine, the which had been his last bottle, and now migraines were taking over in the land which was rightfully theirs. For the hundredth time, 2-D wished he could think without having to swallow half a pharmacy first.

When the ashes of a cigarette pattered down beside him, he looked up to see that Murdoc was watching him with his arms leant casually on the back of the sofa.

"Not hungry, brain-ache?" He asked, nodding towards the three quarters of pizza which was growing cold in its box.

"Not really." The singer admitted with a shrug. The zombie attack had made him totally loose his appetite.

"Do I hear sum pizza going loose?" Russell asked hopefully. 2-D passed the box up without looking and big beefy hands took it gratefully.

"Are you feeling alright, 2-D?" Noodle's voice asked. Again, a shrug. Noodle reached down and patted his blue hair with a concerned hand.

"Has anyone seen my medicine?" 2-D suddenly asked as he took Noodle's hand and unsteadily got to his feet. He was assaulted by the bright flashing light of the television set and he held up a hand to shield his eyes. "The one with the skull on the front. It was my last one...I really need it right now." Murdoc felt that feeling again -- that damned feeling - in his heart again, but he refused to show it.

"Must be in your room, dim-brain, you tried looking?"

"I did...but now with that zombie in there..." 2-D shuddered involuntarily. The thought of the creature destroying his only sanctuary was not a pleasant thought.

"It'll be dead as soon as morning comes along." Murdoc pointed out as he flicked a slice of pepperoni from his chest. Russell eyed it, but stopped himself from going after it.

"On top of that..." 2-D continued in his misery. "I don't have anywhere to sleep tonight..." He let this hang in the air hopefully. Noodle was first to point out she may be open-minded, but she was not going to have a guy sleep in the same room as her. She was getting to that age, she stated. Russell apologised for the mess in his room which meant that even now he was restricted to sleeping on the windowsill, and so all eyes fell on Murdoc.

"What?" He demanded.

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2-D watched the goldfish swim in the sink, happy as it had always been. The shards of glass on the floor were still around, though Russell had attempted to clear up earlier, and the singer noted the glint of sharpness around his bare feet with caution. The fish gulped and splashed around a little, before continuing in its circle. A perfect circle. He was sure he had heard somewhere that if you could draw a perfect circle, you were mad. He would have to try that one out.

Another few minutes, he knew, and the lights in Kong studios would all be shut down. He wished he could have remembered to bring his torch from his room at least, then he would not have to face the dark without just a little light to prove there was nothing in the black that was going to hurt him. Being careful where he stepped, 2-D walked back to the sofa which was to be his bed for tonight and absent mindedly began to unbuckle his belt.

Then he heard a sound from the music room. It was a sound that sounded too much like the sound that comes before the lurch of dead feet and the glare of hollow eyes. 2-D froze in fear, grabbing his blanket and wrapping it around himself as if he expected it to deflect bullets. The ceiling churned as a machine deep in the building's heart clicked off, and the room was plunged into complete darkness.

That was it. If there was one way 2-D did not want to die, it was from being eaten in the dark by a zombie. His feet found his shoes and he rushed blindly towards the faint outline of the door to the main corridor. He could have sworn quick footsteps followed him not far enough behind. Stumbling along the corridor, he struggled to remember the layout of the building. He'd have to take the lift if he wanted Russell or Noodle to save him from becoming a ready meal, and the lift this time of night would probably get stuck and leave him whimpering in the dark -- the only place of hope was the car park, where Murdoc's Winnebago was parked.

Always hearing footsteps behind him, 2-D spurred himself on with fear dancing in his belly and blindly rushed through the doors and corridors along the path he could remember with his eyes closed.

The car park was lit with the glowing orange light coming from the Winnebago, and 2-D welcomed the light like a ray from heaven as he rushed towards it. He slammed into the door and frantically batted on its surface, looking over his shoulder to see that not one, but three zombies were heading towards him with a mission.

"Murdoc! Open up! Please!" There was the sound of someone swearing from inside, and then the vehicle shuddered as footsteps sluggishly scaled the distance to the door. 2-D fell when it was opened quickly, fell directly into Murdoc's arms.

"What the hell are you doing, brain-ache!" The bassist yelled as he shoved 2-D away with a look of forced disgust. Then he saw the three monsters heading for the Winnebago. "Aw, shit, you had to bring them along didn't you." He grabbed the singer roughly by his shoulders and yanked him inside, before he slammed and bolted the door. 2-D collapsed while Murdoc fiddled with the locks and cursed under his breath. He was wearing only trousers, and 2-D could see that the older man's muscles were more pronounced than he could have guessed. Lord knows what he used them for.

A loud caw from the driver's seat demanded attention, and 2-D saw a black raven perched on the fake leather ruffling its feathers at the new arrival. He smiled weakly at the bird and pulled his blanket more firmly around himself. Murdoc turned around and folded his arms, glaring down at the man on his floor.

"You know what time it is?" He demanded.

"'M sorry Murdoc. This was the first place..."

"Alight whatever, but don't do this again brain-ache, I dunt like those zombies any more than you do." When he offered his hand down, the singer flinched in the preparation of being hit, and Murdoc growled impatiently. "Not gonna hit you, just helping you up for fuck's sake. You don't have to shrink away like I'm going to rip your head off." The calloused hand remained suspended in air, a hand which 2-D recognised only as something which could hurt him. When his companion grumbled again, 2-D was spurred on to reach up and put his own limp hand into that strong darker one, and he found himself yanked in one deft movement. The two men shared eye contact for a split second, then Murdoc released his grip and headed towards his bed without commenting. 2-D watched him flop onto the sizable mattress, watched the magazines and various strange objects being shoved away by a big hand. "Suppose you're sleeping here tonight, right?" Murdoc asked, not hiding the contempt in his voice.

"Um...if that's alright with you. I could just..." He looked around for an area of visible floor space and was disappointed. "Actually I don't even need to sleep, I'll just perch here until..."

"And have you watching me while I'm sleep?" Murdoc demanded. "No. That would freak me out." He shuffled across the bed and leant his head against the windowsill. "You'd better sleep in here with me."

2-D was stunned. He blinked at his friend and readjusted his ears, backtracking on what he had heard.

"Huh?"

"Come on, get in here. I want some sleep." He rolled over to face the wall, presenting his band mate with his toned back. 2-D took a deep breath, and stepped towards the bed with the mind of a man in a minefield. Murdoc rolled onto his back when 2-D slumped onto the stained mattress, and he looked sideways at the singer with the disconcerting red eye. "'Nd you better not snore, or you're out of here, get that?"

"Yes." Was the weak reply. Murdoc sniffed and closed his eyes.

The following few moments of silence were used by Murdoc to think. He was on a bed with a man. Not any man, but 2-D, that insufferable jackass who still had some kind of -- what was it? -- attraction to anyone. He was like a goldfish. Always swimming around in that circle, never showing much thought about anything, a regular brain vacant. So why was this feeling welling up in his chest? Murdoc wanted to hit him, to hurt him, to make him scream his name...2-D shuffled and the entire bed shook on its springs.

"Hey!" Murdoc growled. "Don't frigging move, this thing wasn't made for two people you know!" He bit his lip against the hypocrisy of that statement, thinking of all the faceless women he had brought here. Never a bloke though, he'd never thought...he'd never wanted to..._you know_...

"What's got into you lately, Murdoc?" 2-D asked suddenly. The bassist almost jumped upright.

"Nuthin!"

"You just seem different. 's all."

Murdoc calmed when he realised what his question had meant, then confused himself wondering why he had thought 2-D was implying that...what he thought.

"Different?" He growled. "How do you mean different, brain-freeze?"

"Dunno." The younger man shrugged and pulled his blanket over his head. "You haven't been...hurtin me as much."

"You want me to make up for lost time?"

"Nah nah, 'm not complaining! Just seems weird, 's all."

Murdoc watched the mound under the blanket rise and fall with the breaths in that weak frame. Damn Russell, damn Noodle, damn that friggin goldfish, damn everyone. When he saw an insect skitter across the windowsill, he lunged forward and crushed it beneath his precise finger. Bastard thing...

"Murdoc?" That pretty boy voice came again, and the bassist snapped his eyes shut in quick meditation. "Murdoc, do I have something on my back? It really hurts, I dunno what..."

"If I take a look are you gonna shut up?" Murdoc did not wait for a reply, but snatched the protecting blanket away and flung 2-D onto his front before he sat behind him, and roughly pulled him up into a sitting position. With his back against the wall and the singer cradled in his legs, he pulled up the pink shirt and surveyed the pale scrawny back of his band mate. "Fuck!" He exclaimed when he saw the scabbing cut across the younger man's shoulders. "What did you do to yourself?"

"Think it was that zombie..." 2-D murmured. "Someone must have taught them to use samurai swords. My other shirts ruined now." He added petulantly.

"Don't care about your damn shirt brain-ache, more concerned about you right now." He rushed into the depths of the Winnebago while again 2-D backtracked on what he had been told. He cared about him? Really? "Because of the band that is." Murdoc added quickly when he returned with a damp cloth. "The singer needs to be healthy, don't want the Cheshire cat grafted into his back." He reclaimed his previous position and pulled 2-D back to rest against him. "Take off yer shirt brain-ache." The singer complied, and goose pimples popped up over his exposed skin like needles forcing themselves out of their warm prison. When Murdoc pressed the cloth against the wound, the singer fought back a squeal and bit his lip as the sting of antiseptic wound into his body. "Shh, this wont take a second. What, you cryin?" 2-D was forcing down the pinpricks of tears that were the fruit of the pain and the sensation of being so close to his band mate, a sensation he never thought he would experience -- a sensation he could not work out if he liked. He was even more surprised than previously when Murdoc reached around and drew a finger under the younger man's eye, wiping away the water which had been threatening to burst out. "Something eating you, mate?"

"Its the medicine." 2-D replied quickly. "My last bottle, gone, and I really need it...right now." He shuddered at the feel of those hands on his back. "Its not just the headaches...its the depression that gets to me...and that hurts."

"Depressed? You? You mean you've got enough brain cells to get depressed?" The words were cutting, but his tone was subdued. The wound wasn't too bad, it would leave an impressive scar that would fade eventually. He wouldn't be surprised if it was infected already, especially if the sword had got zombie juice on it first.

"Yes, I get depressed." 2-D replied in an indignant voice which did not suit him. "Everyone does."

The two man sat in silence for some moments, the air between them gunging thick with tension. 2-D answering back was a revolution to Murdoc, and he almost permitted a spark of pride to light somewhere in the darkness where his heart should be. For years he had been trying to force the pathetic man to fight back, to stop him from sitting in the corner and shivering whenever anyone raised their voice to him. But if the little louse tried to hit him, well...just well.

"There." Murdoc announced, and he threw the cloth into the mess of the floor from where it would not return for at least three months. "All cleaned up. If it gets infected now, you cant blame me for anything." Without thinking through what he was doing, Murdoc found himself wrapping his arms around 2-D's stomach and squeezing him in a hug. He pushed his chin in-between his neck and shoulder. "'M sorry." He mumbled.

"What?" 2-D asked carefully. He put his hand on top of Murdoc's knuckles, deliberating whether to return the embrace or push him away. It was somehow comforting to feel a warm body against his, a body that did not want him because of his fame, or wanted to bruise him all over.

"Said I'm sorry Brain-ache, you got ears?"

"Sorry for what?"  
"Sorry for hurting you all the time. Okay? That okay?" He growled in his ear.

"Yep." 2-D replied after a pause. "That's fine."

"I do care bout you, you know. Its not like I hate your guts so much I'll kill you one day. Which reminds me, I haven't sacrificed that chicken yet."

"Well then I'm sorry 'bout gettin on your nerves sometimes." 2-D stated, staring straight ahead. Murdoc chuckled and kissed the younger man's neck, it was a quick and almost neutral action which made his blood run cold.

Both men froze, 2-D staring at the picture of the disfigured woman on the opposite wall, and Murdoc with his mouth open and poised inches above the soft skin of his band-mate's shoulder.

Goldfish.

Eventually Murdoc slithered away from the embrace and rolled to his side of the bed. "Night." He said quietly, and did not speak again.

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What do you think? You want me to write the next chapter or stop cos im rubbish? Please tell me i love feedback.


	2. Chapter 2

**Goldfish in the sink --Chapter 2**

Firstly I want to say thank you so much all you people who reviewed this -- you are my inspiration. So I quickly started writing this next chapter, hope you like it but because I've been rushing to finish it, its still my first fan-fic thing and the program I write it on has issues, it may be a bit bad. But please read and review anyway! And I'm writing the last chapter right now.

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"No, that's the wrong bloody note!"

The shouts could be heard throughout Kong studios, shouts which fell onto strange ears which had heard them countless times already in the past hour. The peculiar demon presiding over the reception desk sighed deeply as it continued to trace random shapes on the wooden surface before it. A beer bottle rolled across the room and nudged the jukebox, which promptly began to churn out the first music tracks it was set to. Still the music was not loud enough to cover the yells coming from the recording room.

"That's the wrong bloody note!" Murdoc yelled. "How many times to I have to friggin' tell you Brain-ache, you only play the FIRST progression the SECOND time and not the THIRD time, got it?"

"'M sorry, I cant 'elp it, I cant think."

"Well that's nothing new!" Murdoc almost slammed his bass to the floor and threw a bottle at 2-D, who apparently did not notice when it bounced off his skull.

"Hey," Russel cautioned. "Give him some slack, cant expect a man to work without those painkillers that _someone_ poured into the goldfish bowl." Murdoc glared at the drummer.

"Then for the love of Satan get the boy some more!" He yelled. "Until his brain gets fixed, we cant record a friggin song." He stormed from the room, clutching the inverted cross at his neck and slamming the door behind him. 2-D returned Noodle and Russel's gaze with a shrug, and fell backwards. The loud thud on his landing suggested he had fainted, and around him wires snapped and computer screens spluttered and shut down. The short silence which followed was only interrupted by short snaps of sound from the sparking plugs.

"I think we gonna need some more of that medicine." Russel stated as Noodle patted the singer's wrist.

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There was only one thing that would put Murdoc into his normal mildly tolerable mood, and that was to sacrifice something. To watch blood drip down to the ground, to feel the thrill of taking away a life. Either that or find some gorgeous whore to de-stress himself with, but money was wearing low on the ground thanks to that blue-haired idiot dropping the savings pot into the landfill site again. Chicken sacrifice it was, then. Scratching spot below his eye, Murdoc slammed open the door to the kitchen and ignored the sound of cracking plaster and the ensuing tumble of objects from the shelves. When was the last time this place had been cleared up? Well he was damned if he was going to do it. Cleaning up was the kind of thing he bullied other people to do.

Bully. His mind once again replayed back to the night before, when he had actually…and he shuddered to think it…_kissed_ 2-D on his neck, had actually wanted to…to…urgh, stop thinking.

Snatching a glass from the sideboard, the bassist fumbled inside a drawer for a bottle opener and his fingers closed over a rusty object so often used for this purpose. A label-less beer bottle, full, stood beside the sink and he homed in on this and grabbed it before yanking it open and pouring the fizzing liquid in to the glass. He then blinked at the pint glass, threw it over his shoulder and proceeded to guzzle from the bottle itself. A movement in the sink below caught his eye.

The goldfish was still alive, still swimming and ticking its long tail in the tepid water, completely undaunted by the filthy enamel sides of its new prison, or the amount of dead spiders and insects which were now floating on the skin above it. Murdoc watched the hypnotic movement of the creature as it swam round and round. Pointless, completely pointless, but in some way beautiful.

He'd kill that thing if it was the last thing he did.

But at that moment, he did not kill it.

He left it alone, he left the kitchen and went to his Winnebago, and the goldfish in the sink continued to gulp and swim as if nothing had happened.

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2-D's room was a mess. The light of late morning streamed through the partially blinded windows and lit up the chaos that was within, and the singer stood at his door and sighed heavily while his flipped a flick-knife absent-mindedly in his hand. The zombie which had scared him so badly the previous night was now an inanimate corpse, curled up on a chair in such a way that 2-D had yelped and ran at first, thinking it was still alive. After psyching himself up and peeking around the door, 2-D was finally able to stand in its dead-eyed gaze and fully take in how long it would take to make the room habitable again. The bed...well, that had to go for a start, unless he wanted to start living like a hamster. The posters along the walls were patted with blood and zombie life-essence, and the light fixture was hanging by a single wire and spluttering threateningly any time he tried to get close to it. As for any other object or item of furniture in the room, most had been smashed and was now clumped in unrecognisable clusters like the wreckage of a modernist sculpture exhibition.

Pocketing the knife, 2-D shuffled along the carpet and dejectedly picked up a cracked red keyboard, before he prodded the power button and ran his pale thin fingers along the keys hopefully. A splutter from the plastic speakers told him the instrument was in no mood to work, and he allowed it to thud to the carpet along with the mess of clothes and a broken coffee table.

"Satan, this is worse than the landfill site."

2-D spun on his heel to see Murdoc standing in the doorway roving his mismatched eyes over the destruction, a strange sneer cut across his face. Immediately 2-D's face flushed and he looked away quickly while rubbing a red patch on his neck.

"It's dead, right?" Murdoc continued and, ignoring his band mate's uneasiness, he barged past towards the zombie resting in the desk chair. To test this theory, he punched the creature firmly between its eyes and seemed satisfied when the head rolled off with a sickening crunch and sloshed to the ground. "How these bastards get in, I've no idea but they're all over. Frankly, I don't like the idea of a load of bodies stinkin up the place, so you're gonna help me get rid of them, right?"

"Okay. Um, where..."

"Come on, and carry that damn thing downstairs cos I aint touching it." Murdoc watched as 2-D fought his fear and hitched the zombie onto his back, then the bassist took the singer's arm and yanked him from the room.

Russel was waiting for them in the sitting room, sat eating from a large bag of crisps on the sofa which was piled with at least eight of the dead creatures. The large man did not seem to be bothered by the clammy skin pressing against him, and he even poked on in the eye before pointing out something interesting which was playing on the television. Murdoc told 2-D to wait outside so he could pass the zombies to him, and the singer was only too glad to be as far as possible from the horrible things.

They were not the same as they were last night, it seemed that the life had been sucked from them. The spark of life, no matter how blank and meaningless, was gone. The carcasses slumped onto the cushions around Russel and stared eyelessly at those around. Murdoc picked up one of the dead hands and dragged it towards the door, where her threw the carcass on to 2D who was waiting outside. The singer was almost crumpled beneath the weight and screamed when he saw the dead faces.

"Shut it!" Was Murdoc's only offer of sympathy. He was leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed and an expression of sheer boredom on his unaimiable face.

"Want help there man?" Russel's voice asked, though the drummer made no move to offer any. Murdoc returned and yanked two more zombies away while 2-D stumbled to the main hall with cold skin decaying in his hands.

"What do ya think? Come on, don't just sit there, lets get rid of these things." He threw another body into the hallway while Russel picked up the remaining five in one large arm sweep and hurled them from the room before relinquishing his place on the sofa. Murdoc stared at him for a moment, before he poked his head around the doorway and yelled at 2-D who was still struggling with the first body.

"And hurry that up, brain-freeze, aint got all day." He blocked the chance of a reply by slamming the door and leaving the singer alone in the corridor with the bodies.

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It was midday by the time Noodle rushed back to Kong studios, a paper bag held proudly in her small hand. When she burst dramatically into the sitting room, she beheld Russel slumped on the sofa and snoring into a newspaper, while Del had appeared and was hovering transfixed before the television changing the channels seemingly by mind. Noodle paused for a moment to watch a newsreader merge into the mad dance of a MacDonald's advert, fizz to an interview with an up and coming pop band and return back to the news screen. Judging by the insane grin on the spirit's wide-lipped mouth, Del was enjoying himself.

"Yo there, what's the rush?" The spirit asked when he saw the young girl scamper through the room. He was ignored and so he returned to the flicking of the channels, the blue glow of his airy skin flickering like a signal.

"2-D!" Noodle called at the top of her shrill voice. "2-D, where are you?"

After darting around the rooms for over ten minutes, Noodle's sharp mind picked up some unease. She rushed to 2-D's room, the last place she thought she would find him, and stared in horror at the note she found resting on the table.

"Murdoc-sama!" Noodle called as she thumped heavily on the door of the Winnebago resting in the car park. "2-D gone! Come out, we need to find him! Murdoc!" The door was flung open and the girl rolled onto her back with a little scream.

"Cool it ya hyperactive midget!" The bassist yelled at her. "Cant I get a little shut-eye when I need it?"

"2-D is gone!" She repeated as she jumped to her feet and waved a sheet of paper in his face, which he violently snatched from her.

"Gimmie that!" He squinted down at the paper and mouthed the word written in the scrawling hand.

Goodbye

"Noodle, that doesn't mean a damn thing!" Murdoc ripped up the piece and threw it over her head, though in reality his mind was ticking. The dullard wouldn't go off like that would he, not after the...comparatively good treatment he was getting recently. The ground shuddered as Russel ran into the car park, rubbing his eyes and blinking blearily.

"Heard you screamin, what's goin on man?" Noodle jabbered an explanation while Murdoc leaned dejectedly on the doorframe.

The singer/keyboardist of the band was gone. Without a singer, that's no songs. Without songs, that's no money and without money that's nothing. Nothing was something Murdoc could do without.

"Right, so its down to me to get the dullard back?" He stated.

"We could--" Russel began.

"Shut it pork eyes I can handle this." The Satanist snatched the paper bag from Noodle's hands and glared inside to see a single bottle emblazoned with the familiar skull and crossbones. Grunting once, he clambered into his Winnebago and slammed the door behind him, before the entire vehicle shuddered as he made his way to the steering wheel. Russel and Noodle shared a sideways glance, then the air was suddenly assaulted by the cloud of blackness which coughed from the over-used exhaust. Still muttering, Murdoc drove the Winnebago out of the car park, but not before he had smashed into two cars and dislodged the front bumper. Soon all that could be heard in the park was the rolling of the broken metal and tinkle of broken glass.

After a short silence, Noodle glanced across to see that Russel was chuckling to himself as he picked up the large pieces of paper littering at his feet, piecing them together and laughing even harder. When he saw the raised eyebrow Noodle was directing at him, he smiled.

"D's fine." He stated. "I jes thought Murdoc was bein a little harsh on him, so I ripped this out of D's lyric book hopin he'd find it." He continued to chuckle while Noodle sighed impatiently, but soon a knowing smile spread across her face.

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"Damn idiot...going out on his own like this...might as well kill imself before those bastard monsters get him...not if I kill him first..."

Murdoc muttered continually to himself as he drove the Winnebago over the rough terrain towards the graveyard. Every so often he would fall swearing from his seat when a bump in the road proved too much for the vehicle's suspension, and as he drew nearer to the graves dotted in the distance his foul words grew more frequent and his slicked hands gripped the steering wheel tighter than was healthy. As he drove, his thoughts grew darker and darker -- perhaps 2-D, in all his idiocy, had invited another pathetic and less than attractive fan girl into the studios who had promptly pulled a bag over his head and carted him away to live in her celebrity boudoir. Kidnapped. Held hostage. Dear Murdoc Niccals, we have your singer. Give us all of your awards and you can get him back -- if not, he will die at midnight tonight. Pained at the thought of parting with the golden awards, Murdoc pushed the fantasy away and focused on the invisible road ahead of him.

His fear was short lived -- as he drew nearer, the bassist saw that a lanky figure was standing holding what looked like a spade beside one of the many gravestones.

While Murdoc began to growl unearthly exclamations directed at the distant figure, 2-D heard the rumble of the approaching Winnebago and waved brightly at him with the spade hand, and promptly knocked himself out with the handle. Throwing up a fine spray of dust and gravel, the Winnebago eventually thudded to a stop and out jumped a particularly livid Murdoc.

"There you are! You little fucker what in Satan's hell -- you're supposed to be gone, kidnapped!"

"Um, I don't fink I am." The singer looked around quickly. "Am I?"

"No brain-freeze, you're not." Murdoc slapped him on the back of his head. "I cant believe this! Came all the way out here, sacrificin beauty sleep too! I tell you, I'm gonna damn well give it to ya when we get back, I was dying of worry!" He kicked him firmly in the stomach and watched him fall into an open grave. After kicking the gravestone repeatedly for a moment, the Satanist's anger dimmed and he grabbed the hand that was furiously attempting to find purchase on the soil.

"Did you say, you was worried bout me?" 2-D asked when he had been pulled out of the ground. Murdoc scowled and drew his hand back as if he had touched something distasteful.

"You're the singer brain-freeze. Without you I don't have a band. _That's_ why I was worried."

"Right." 2-D mumbled as he rubbed the back of his head. "I thought fer a minute you was..."

"Was what? Ah forget it, lets just get you back before guitarist and drummer explode." The founder of the band raised an impatient eyebrow when 2-D picked up the dropped spade and began to dig into a mound of mud and rubbish with it, panting pathetically as he did.

"Sorry Muds, I've got to bury this first. I'll follow you in just a minute." And he lugged a mound of soil into the open grave. "They've only been coming alive because of the landfill site pushing them out of their graves, only fair to bury them again."

"What in hell are you talking about?" Murdoc looked down into the pit for the first time, and saw that partially covered by the dark soil and patted by partially submerged crisp packets, was a zombie. Judging by the hole between its empty eye sockets, this was one of the many which had felt Murdoc's wrath the night before. After another struggling effort from 2-D, the face was lost and in the dimming light the macabre effect was of a headless corpse. Shivering once, Murdoc glanced up at the sun in the darkening sky and noted how soon sunset would be. Too soon if this idiot was going to take forever burying this damn thing.

"Alright dullard, gimme the spade." The Satanist grabbed for the implement and his hand happened to close over 2-D's knuckles in a firm grip.

Both men froze for a long moment, each waiting for the other to let go. 2-D looked across to see that Murdoc's eyes were fixed on the spade, but his dark mind appeared to be lost somewhere else.

The moment was broken when Murdoc violently yanked the spade from the singer's hands and 2-D jumped back with a dazed yelp.

"I said give me the fuckin spade! Something wrong with your ears as well?" He pushed past and jabbed the spade into the mound, almost knocking his companion into the grave again as he did so. "Noodle said you were kidnapped, and really you were planting these damn things."

"Been doin it all day." 2-D replied proudly. "Only another eight of them to go."

"Sweet Satan." Murdoc muttered. This was certainly not his idea of spending an afternoon, but before he was going to yell at his band mate again he saw the way 2-D's eyes were shining in the simple-minded happiness of doing something good, that would put souls to rest. Not to mention stop all those midnight rescue missions. Grumbling inwardly, Murdoc agreed with himself to at least do this one thing for him. "There's another spade in the Winnebago, go get it and lend me one of yer pathetic greasy hands, I aint doing this all by myself."

"Right." And 2-D scampered away, his footsteps crunching on the broken glass glittering in the soil.

By the time the last zombie was being returned to its resting place, the sunset glared on the horizon like a slitted eye and the long shadows were slowly decaying in the dying light. Leaning against his spade, 2-D stared glazedly at the orange glow while Murdoc's flagging efforts began to cover the final zombie.

"Muds?"

"What?"

"Its bootiful, isn't it?" The singer sighed through his nose, then scratched the back of his head. Murdoc continued to pant as he paused and glared without much interest at the scenery. The soft orange light fell onto the small hills of the landfill site and the barren fields beyond, fragments of glass embedded into the great site reflected the rays, and the Satanist saw that because of this the surrounding area appeared to be shining. Cold, smooth, lifeless. He snorted.

"Yeah," Murdoc grunted as he returned to the work. "Absolutely fuckin amazin." His mind was not agreeing with him at that moment. Here he was, in the middle of a landfill site, helping a dullard plant the garden. He was doing menial work, he was commenting on the landscape, he was not beating up the useless idiot who had talked him into this. But who had talked him into this? No one, he'd brought it along himself...

"Muds?" 2-D asked again, shattering the Satanist's train of thought. Biting his lip, Murdoc did not reply but thudded the spade into the earth once more. "Muds, don't you think this is a scary gravestone? Looks a bit like a..." He trailed off, apparently not able to come up with a suitable simile. Murdoc glanced up and noticed that the gravestone was in fact carved into the shape of a curious gargoyle, the head of which was large and skull-like. The craftsmanship was hardily impressive -- the disproportion of the eyes was most noticeable, and the quality of the carving was jagged and unfinished. Making a mental note to draw it in a notebook as soon as he got back to Kong studios, Murdoc glared again at 2-D and struggled with the last few shovels of earth. Sensing tension, 2-D unsteadily rushed to help.

The gravestone shuddered and the obscure head wobbled precariously on its plinth. Murdoc paused in his progress and narrowed his eyes at his companion.

"If that's you fecking about dullard, I'm gonna rip yer eyes out."

"Promise you its not me, Muds."

"How many times do I have to tell you brain-ache, you call me that again--" He was cut off when the stone head slammed past his face and thudded to the earth, and he yelled in surprise and dropped the spade. While 2-D laughed nervously, Murdoc gazed down to see the gargoyle head rolling gently, its gloomy eyes two dead black holes in the growing darkness.

"I don't fink that's supposed to happen..." 2-D stated carefully. Murdoc fought the urge to hit him again and shovelled the last measure of earth into the grave.

"Right, that's it, don't say I don't do anythin for you brain-ache. Lets get back before any of them wake up. Hey!" The bassist thumped the singer lightly on his arm, and watched as the younger man blinked as if stepping from a trance. 2-D's eyes watered and he put a hand to the side of his head, wincing greatly. "Hey," Murdoc continued in a gentler voice. "I said lets go. Your head hurtin' again?"

"Uh, yeah." The singer muttered, swaying slightly. He turned quickly to the Winnebago and made stumbling steps towards it, apparently under the impression that the ground was swishing under his feet. After taking one last glance at the broken headstone, Murdoc stepped after his band mate and gently closed his hand around the younger man's elbow. 2-D did not resist, and gladly accepted the help up into the Winnebago and promptly collapsed onto the sparse and cluttered floor space.

Wordlessly and glowering into the dank air, Murdoc latched the door and stepped over his band mate's twitching body towards the driving seat, where he picked up the paper bag and poured the bottle out into his hand.

"Muds..." 2-D muttered as the older man picked him up by the underarms and dragged him towards his bed. Murdoc merely tightened his grip and threw him onto the stained mattress.

"There!" He growled, throwing the bottle at him. He spun around and stamped towards the steering wheel, and as he sat in the driver's seat he heard clearly the sound of the bottle being opened and the dangerous liquid being poured down 2-D's throat. Soon after, the silence from the bed was replaced by a snoring which rivalled the rattling of the Winnebago's engine, and Murdoc forced himself to blank out the sound as he whacked the dashboard in an attempt to make the headlights work. When they flicked on and badly illuminated the dusty tracks made on the journey there, Murdoc thought for a split second that the cracked shapes in the pools of light resembled a certain type of fish very closely...

Blinking shook that illusion away, and Murdoc made a mental note to kill the goldfish in the sink as soon as he got back.

They were close enough to Kong studios to see the high whitewashed walls in the darkness when the Winnebago spluttered and the engine shut down of its own accord. Swearing and kicking the steering wheel and gear stick made absolutely no difference, and resigned to this fact Murdoc stepped towards the bedroom ready to take his anger out on the sleeping singer still curled up on his bed.

"Hey, brain-freeze!" He shouted while banging his knuckles on the wardrobe. Seeing this received no response, the bassist grabbed the younger man's shoulder and rolled him onto his back, to see that 2-D was still sleeping peacefully, cuddling the off-white pillow to himself as if it was his long lost love. With his thin lips curled up into a contended smile and his gel-less blue hair resting over his eyes, the singer looked happier than he had for months. Murdoc withdrew the hand that was intended to punch the sleeper in the stomach, and instead carefully brushed the hairs from the young man's face. At the feel of the rough fingers passing gently across his forehead, 2-D frowned slightly and rolled back onto his side, muttering some half forgotten song lyric. Feeling a peculiar sensation burn in his chest, Murdoc swore to himself again and telling himself he was stepping so quietly because he did not want to break anything, left the Winnebago and began to trek through the dark to the waiting door of Kong studios.

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Okay there it is, any more reviews? (Ppplease?) Im not sure where im going with the plotline but hopefully I can tie it up in the next chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

I STILL DO NOT OWN GORILLAZ

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Yes, this has taken ages to appear. I cannot even begin to say how sorry I am, but its mainly because I've had so many other things to do -- and there's the little issue of only being able to use a computer and the internet once every fortnight. Anyway, here it is at last. I'm so sorry I took so long…if I post anything else here, I think I'll make sure its already finished before I post it.

Thank you all for reviewing! I love you!

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CHAPTER THREE

Once again, the air in Kong Studios was polluted with the thick stench of burning food. Following the growing cloud of black smoke which had winded its way around the corridors, Noodle traced the source to the kitchen. Here she found Murdoc, shrouded in waves of smoke and a filthy cooking apron, his face wide and grinning as he placed the cremated carcass of what once was a chicken on the kitchen table. Waving his hand before his face, his eyes focused on the girl standing in the doorway and his face suddenly sank to the tombstone expression so easily etched upon his features.

"Whaddya you want?" He grunted.

"I was wondering what you are endeavouring to achieve?" Noodle asked tolerably, her large eyelashes flashing, once. Murdoc, concentrating on keeping his cold aura, shrugged the apron from his shoulders. Noodle subconsciously noted the apron had not helped to prevent two large stains from appearing on the front of the bassist's shirt.

"Just tryin' to look after the singer of my band. Ya got something to say about that?" Noodle did have something to say about that -- if 2-D was forced to eat what the newly diligent Murdoc had cooked up, the singer would probably never bring a microphone to his mouth again -- but she resisted and nodded approvingly. Murdoc grunted as he shoved a window open and began to direct the smoke away with the flap of his hands. "Do ya wanna bit?"

"No thank you. We already ate. There's some pizza left if you want it."

Murdoc turned and surveyed the burnt chicken on the table. The meat, once fleshy and tender, was now grissling and popping inside its charcoal casing.

"What's wrong with it?" He asked defensively.

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2-D jumped back when he saw a single red eye appear through the keyhole.

"Knock knock!"

"Muds?"

"Let me in idiot." This order was emphasised with a violent strike on the door, at which the singer jumped and rushed to the lock. "You missed dinner." Murdoc told 2-D once he was through the door and inside the singer's room. "Brought you this." A pizza box was thrown at the singer and a single slice of cold pizza fell out and slapped to the floor while 2-D fell backwards onto his bed.

"Er, thanks Muds." He brushed the front of his shirt with a scrawny hand where a new patch of grease had formed.

"I cooked ya something as well, but I burnt it at the same time. Damn cooker's screwed again." 2-D's look of forced gratitude was wasted, as Murdoc's attention was on the freshly created painting hung up against the wall. His mismatched eyes narrowed as he stared at the mutilated canvas, clashes of red and green paint strokes.

"Dullard, what, may i ask, the hell is that."

"It's my painting."

"That's a painting? Looks like someone was sick on a pavement."

"It's only my style, Muds." 2-D looked slightly offended, and picked up a handful of paintbrushes before clutching them possessively to his chest. "I need to find ways to express myself."

"Don't ya do that in your music?" Murdoc offered. 2-D looked like he was thinking hard, but the moment soon passed.

"I guess so. But there are other ways." The singer's air or superiority was ruined somewhat when he went to put the brushes down and slipped up on the discarded pizza slice. Murdoc laughed.

"Well I'm goin' to leave you and your artist-tary to it. Come downstairs later." He left without closing the door. 2-D lay back in relief, a lone pepperoni sticking to his pale cheek.

Painting?

2-D was painting?

Well it was utter rubbish, that was certain. So why did Murdoc in some way admire the brushstrokes, why did he admire the deft and strong way the paint had been splashed across the pure white of the canvas?

Probably because he admired the painter.

Nope. No. Shut up.

Murdoc was sat in the lounge alone, rocking backwards and forwards on the sofa, his eyes blank as he lost his soul in his thoughts.

Perhaps if he killed the goldfish, these feelings would go away. That was it! This last bastillion that was keeping him from his normal psychopathic self. The self that he wanted back as soon as was humanly possible.

Completely set and focused, Murdoc entered the kitchen once more and, boiling with anger, glared at Noodle and Russell who were emptying out the cupboards.

"Sumthin' up, man?" Russell asked, brandishing a rotting human arm at Murdoc. Murdoc glowered and made for the sink. "Murdoc?"

"I'm killing that fucking goldfish 'nd I don't want any of you lot to stop me!" He leaped at the sink, and Noodle cried out in her Japanese voice as his fingers wrapped around the fish and squeezed. The following moments was chaos as Russell dived and snatched up the strangling hand.

"Hey hey! Chill out man, its just a goldfish!" The drummer wrestled the little animal from Murdoc's hand -- after a few moments of struggling, Murdoc was semi-conscious on the floor and Russell was carefully returning the goldfish to the sink.

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The evening in Kong Studios saw the band watching a pirate copy 'King Kong' in the lounge. Russell and Noodle were sat on the larger sofa, while Murdoc had opted for the smaller one on the other side of the room. 2-D, perhaps sensing some tension from the bassist, had perched himself on the arm of the smaller sofa and was gazing into space while the creatures on the screen screamed and roared.

Russell and Noodle were totally absorbed into the film, Russell even nodding or shaking his head at appropriate moments. Neither of them noticed that Murdoc was staring unashamedly at 2-D, watching the flicker of the sharp light on his clean face. He was a pretty boy, alright. Murdoc wondered vacantly where all the girlfriends had disappeared to. Probably strangled themselves.

"Ya alright there?" Murdoc asked, barely audible. 2-D flinched as if waking from a dream, and carefully gazed at the bassist.

"Fine thanks Muds." He shuffled and returned his gaze to the TV. Another moment passed.

"Hey dullard," Murdoc spoke softly. "Cm' 'ere." Again, 2-D flinched, and glanced dismissively at Murdoc.

"I think I'm alright sat here, Muds."

"I said," Murdoc growled, "_Come here_." With a strong hand, the bassist grabbed 2-D's collar and quickly pulled him from the room. Noodle and Russell barely noticed, but Russel belched and pressed the volume button on the remote. In the shadow of the next room, Murdoc pulled 2-D into the corner closest to a large fish tank, in which small guppies were swimming and gulping the water. They watched the new arrivals with goggle eyes.

"Ow! What are you..."

"Shut up!" Murdoc pushed his band mate against the wall and checked over his shoulder, listening carefully for Noodle and Russell. "Now listen dullard, I've got one or two things happenin' in my head recently, an' unfortunately they're all to do with you." He pushed his band mate more forcefully against the wall, ignoring the yelp of protest.

"But Muds..." He nodded his head towards the next room, from which came the sound of a second belch.

"I don't give a fuck, for god's sake dullard dont you get it!" He grabbed him by the neck of his shirt and dragged him into the shadow of the alcove. The TV set in the living room could be heard advertising pet food, its dull blue light flickered onto the wall behind Murdoc, and 2-D appeared to be suddenly entranced by it.

"Dont get what?" He asked glazedly. Murdoc fought the urge to slap him, but slammed him against the fish tank and raked his hands down the singer's back.

"If I give you a clue will ya guess?" He spat. The toxic water in the tank sloshed over the side and splashed against the two men, and both of them yelped in surprise. Suddenly the volume of the TV plunged, and Russell's concerned voice floated towards them.

"Yo! Alright there?"

"Fucking Satan!" Murdoc growled, and yanked 2-D away from the room and pushed him through the door. As soon as the barrier slammed shut and silence accompanied the two men in the corridor, the bassist pinned the singer against the wall and closed his mouth over 2-D's as if he was the most beautiful woman in the world.

Murdoc took a firm hold of the back of 2-D's neck to stop the struggle of his band mate, who was not entirely sure of the new sensation of another man pushing against his tongue. Time seemed to stop for 2-D, all seconds and minutes froze and congealed -- but by the time Murdoc's straying hand had passed the breach of decency, the singer was able to fully register the situation and pushed his band mate away again.

"Nah, no its not right..."

"Fuck that." Taking a firm grip on 2-D's scrawny shoulders, Murdoc began to bodily drag him along the corridor.

Moments later, the dim-lit silence of the gloomy Kong Studios car park was broken by the sound of struggle as Murdoc dragged the singer of his band towards the shady wreck of his residence.

"I'm really not sure about this Muds..."

"Come on, get in here." He roughly threw his band mate into the Winnebago, took a furtive glance at the surrounding car park, and quickly dipped inside after him. 2-D was stood beside the sink, watching him with enormous puppy eyes.

"Does this mean anything to you?" The singer asked quietly, showing some resistance when his companion again took his scrawny arms in his own and began levering him towards the other end of the Winnebago.

"Its. Just. A. Fuck." Murdoc spat impatiently.

"Don't you luv me?"

"No." Murdoc spat, though not before he gave the singer a long glare of harsh speculation.

"Then forget it Muds!" 2-D was almost crying. Dull black eyes dampened as he turned his pale face away from the offered kiss, the younger man's spidery hand failed to push his band mate away.

For a single moment all the anger Murdoc had ever experienced focused deep in the centre of his heart. Little bastard, who does he think he is, giving orders like that? Grubby fingers planted themselves on either side of the singer's chin and his head was snapped back towards Murdoc, who grinned tolerably.

"Hey, its not like i was lyin when I said what i said the other night." The bassist followed this with a little cough in his throat and a cautious glance at the wall. 2-D's resolve wavered slightly, and pressing his advantage Murdoc kissed him again, gently this time. Any groans of yearning were subdued.

"There's one problem..." 2-D offered meekly as soon as the warm embrace was broken. Murdoc raised his eyebrows.

"Just one?"

"Well...we're...we're both men."

"Really?" Keeping his glare on 2-D's blank pupils, Murdoc's hand jabbed down and took a firm hold of the offending article, at which the singer gasped and gripped his band mate's wrist. "Well, there ya go, you do have one. And there was me all this time wonderin." Struggle followed, Murdoc bodily wrestled the singer towards the bed but both men cried out when he tripped over a curl in the carpet and slammed to the floor, pulling 2-D with him. With renewed vigour Murdoc proceeded to drag his band mate along the floor while running his free hand over whichever spot of pale skin he could reach. When they reached the discarded blanket, the lust could be sated no longer and the Satanist lunged himself at the younger man with incredible vigour.

Murdoc yanked the shirt from 2-D's body, taking the harsh sound of ripping as a spur to move faster. His fingers fumbled with his belt as the two men rolled around, lips locked and surging.

Something clicked inside Murdoc.

Suddenly all his fever and power slipped away in a cold rush into his belly, and Murdoc drew away quickly, his eyes opening and closing in confusion. Breathing heavily, 2-D gazed up at him and frowned.

"Muds? Are you okay?"

"Nah, I can't do this. Jes...jes get out of my sight. Right now." Murdoc growled. 2-D sat up quickly and jumped from the bed.

"Muds..."

"I SAID NOW DULLARD!" Murdoc screeched. 2-D shot to the door and flung it open, then paused. In a flash he was beside Murdoc again and, moving his face to his friend's, he kissed Murdoc gently as he could. When they pulled away a string of saliva snapped between their lips, and Murdoc's mis-matched eyes glared waveringly into 2-D's own blank pools.

"Now..." He throatily whispered. Once again 2-D stepped away, zipping his jeans as he picked his way over the mess. Without looking back, he stepped through the door and shut it carefully, leaving Murdoc alone.

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Morning brought a new burst of brainpower to Murdoc. The initial thought upon his waking was sheer and intense embarrassment that he had actually tried to shag 2-D. At least now, he realised, getting so close had sated the strange passion which had possessed him for the past few days.

2-D had approached him at breakfast time, muttering that none of it was a good idea. It was stupid, in fact. They should learn to deal with any emotions or feelings they had. They also needed some female company.

Women seemed to understand, although of course money was a good tutor. Regardless of how stupid 2-D appeared to be, even dimwits have feelings. Unfortunately .

To be fair, brain-freeze had a point. There were other more important things to think about. The band, for instance, and judging by the success of the new album launch, Murdoc would need all the time he could get to promote and...deal with more fans. Having an affair with a band mate at a time like this was, frankly, stupid -- especially when both men were redoundedly heterosexual.

He could forget all this. Next time he saw 2-D he would slap him across the forehead and _not _feel any kind of remorse for doing it afterwards.

Out to the fans, grab a couple of young hot girls and bring them back to the Winnebago.

He needed new bass strings.

Murdoc rubbed his unshaved chin and smiled. But there was one more thing to take care of...

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Humming a tune to herself, Noodle padded into the kitchen, her black eyes sparkling with the success of another composition. Held carefully in her small hands was a glass globe, a fragile bubble slurping with water. With great reverence, Noodle placed the fish bowl onto the table before she skipped to the sink, flexing her fingers ready to pick the goldfish from the greasy water.

When she glanced into the sink, she beheld nothing but the sheen of fat globules swimming where a fish should have been.

"Hey Noodle!" A voice called. Murdoc was standing in the doorway, his fist tightly clenched and eyes rubbed red. "Looking for this?" He threw something at her and slammed the door the second it landed in her hands.

Cushioned on the soft skin of Noodle's palms, the goldfish goggled its single visible eye at the young face in the light above it.

"It means nothin'!" Murdoc's yell was heard, before a door somewhere in the studios slammed shut. Noodle blinked quietly, registering a sad laugh which belonged only to a certain blue-haired singer.

A fish out of water cannot last long. The goldfish's life silently slipped away -- cold, brittle, worthless.


End file.
